


I Will Be Blessed

by Lidsworth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More characters to come, Psychic Abilities, Slow Burn, more warnings to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 20:33:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13395705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidsworth/pseuds/Lidsworth
Summary: Sam can  see ghost, has been able to so since he’s been a little boy. It was never an issue for him, not after he learned to control it.But with dead relatives and friends from each members of the Avengers past stopping by his house, and  asking him to take care of unfinished business, it suddenly becomes a problem. A huge problem, especially when he starts learning things about certain members that he wished he hadn't.





	I Will Be Blessed

**Author's Note:**

> First SamSteve story and first marvel story! Please tell me what you think!

 

_ Heaven is the place we know, heaven is the arms that hold us, long before we go-Ben Howard _

_ \-- _

 

She looks  _ so much  _ like Steve, and Sam bites his tongue before he makes the mistake of addressing her as such. This is a petite  woman, small in stature,  yet there’s a fierceness in her eyes that he’s almost certain Steve Rogers inherited from her.

 

Underneath her distress, Sam can smell her fight, as clear as day, as if it were Steve Rogers standing right beside him.    
  


“You must be Mrs. Sarah Rogers,” Sam concludes, taking one glance at the 40’s attire and clean hairstyle, coupled also with what he already knows,  “Nice to meet you.” 

 

She doesn’t seem to acknowledge his greeting, which isn’t uncommon for her kind, at least Sam has observed this in his history of working with them. Mrs. Rogers most likely has limited time with him anyway. 

 

“Can you hear us?” The question is more of a whisper in Sam’s head rather than a vocal inclination, as her lips remained sealed tight, completely unmoving. And she speaks more with her eyes than her mouth, her blue, watery orbs  _ pleading.  _ Sam can feel her desperation. It’s not impossible that Sam is one of many she’s appeared to, only to be turned away, or to have her presence banished altogether. 

 

That, and Sam is closer to Steve than any of the others Mrs. Rogers had most likely encountered in the past. Not just  _ any  _ psychic, or medium, or whatever they were calling them nowadays could stroll up to Captain America's doorstep and tell him that his dead mother wanted to speak with him. That never,  _ ever  _ went well. 

 

And frankly, Sam isn’t sure if he can do it either. 

 

“Can you see us?” demands the woman when Sam refuses to answer immediately, her voice  _ dripping  _ in agony, in fear---fear that Sam cannot see her, that her efforts to make known have been fruitless. The emotional onslaught nearly causes Sam to double over, and had he not been who he was, he would have collapsed on the porch moments ago. 

 

Instead he settles for breathing deeply, calming himself and letting her emotions pass through him. 

 

The specter frowns deeply when he remains silent, and Sam knows that when he closes his eyes, she’ll be gone. And perhaps that’s for the best. He may be Steve’s friend, but he doesn’t know him well enough to start prodding into his life. Whatever chances of progressing their relationship, Sam doesn’t want to be ruined by divine intervention. Steve has been the happiest thing that has happened to him sine Riley, and he doesn’t want to lose that. 

 

The vet allows his eyes to flutter close, opening them when her presence washes off of the porch. 

 

He walks into his house with heavy steps, the guilt of turning down Steve’s mother causing an ache in his chest. It’s not that he doesn’t want to help, but it’s….it’s Steve. Steve he just really got to know, Steve who doesn’t know that his friend could speak to the dead, Steve who barely knew Sam aside from the time they spend looking for Bucky, and who would probably freak out if he found out that he was speaking to his dead mother.

  
Steve who he didn’t want to lose.  

 

However, he doesn’t forget her plea, and his thoughts linger at her last word--us--and he wonders just how many ‘us’ is, and who ‘us’ are. Though he has little time to ponder on  what exactly she meant, as he shakes off his jacket and hangs it on his coat rack. There’s cases to sort, and a particular client of his he’s worried about--hasn’t spoken up in meetings since last month, and Sam’s getting concerned.  

 

\-----

 

He spends the remainder of the evening sorting out his cases, making phone calls, and texting Steve to make sure he hasn’t gotten himself killed. Though to be fair he’s toned down since Bucky settled into Wakanda, and since he and Tony had made up. 

 

In general,  _ things  _ had settled down for all of them. When Zemo’s schemes had come to play, Wakanda had been the first (and the only one necessary) to prove Bucky’s innocence, and had grown rather insistent of him remaining with them during the majority of his recovery period. Apparently the Princess wanted to remake his arm, and then there was the King himself...who just wanted Bucky. 

 

No body denied them that, considering how absolutely obsessed they'd become with each other during Bucky’s recovery. 

  
Naturally, the Team’s innocence had followed. 

 

Steve and Natasha had settled back into the tower, and for the most part had resumed doing whatever Avengers did on their off time. Not that Sam didn’t consider himself one of them, but as of recent he’s taken to spending time adjusting to his old life. 

 

He considers himself a last resort--a last option. He’d rather not spend his free time fighting super villains if he didn’t have to. Or partying in Tony’s mansion every evening. 

 

And besides, unlike them, Sam has a real, 9-5 job. 

 

Midnight comes sooner than usual, the house darkening a little, and a subtle draft creeping on the floor. It’s not unsurprising, the weather was next to unpleasant that day, the temperature dropping to a record low--at least in Sam’s book. Everyone else seemed to be just fine. 

 

The cool tendrils are tickling his feet now, and Sam scrunches his toes up in an attempt to wade the cold off. He has a load of work to do, and will be damned if he lets a little cold bother him. 

  
_ Only,  _ the temperature drops considerably within moments, and Sam finds himself groggily standing to his feet, turning on his bare heels to adjust his thermostat. No point in getting sick, not if he can help it. 

 

He doesn’t even get past his bedroom door though, because Sarah Rogers is standing right there. 

 

He jumps with a start, not expecting to see her in his house--in his room. His shock only increases as his eyes drop to her appearance, her face gaunt, paper white skin pale as the moon, and eyes sunken deep into her sockets. 

 

Her eyes are pitless, their depths extent into oblivion, and Sam knows better than to look for too long. 

 

Her attire is different, certainly late 30ish still, at least that’s what Sam  _ thinks  _ it should be. It’s not like Steve spent long hours talking to him about late 30s clothing.  

It almost resembles a gown, something Sam assumed she wore to bed (and judging by her appearance, it was most likely the last thing she wore to bed  before she died). 

  
“What do you want?” Sam demands softly, keeping a distance from the specter, eyeing her cautiously, “Is it about Steve?” 

  
Mrs. Rogers inclines her head slowly, dark orbs still trained menacingly on Sam. 

 

“You want me to tell him something?” He continues. 

  
Again, she nods. And Sam considers. There was a reason he closed himself off to the other side, but there is also a reason  _ she  _ was able to reach him.  And that aside, it’s in Sam’s nature to help everyone, both the living and the dead, no matter how much he hates doing so for the latter. He’s lost friends because of it, lost his sanity too. But...but this is Mrs. Rogers, and she needs help. This is Steve’s mother. And perhaps whatever she says, whatever she knows, can give Steve some closure. 

 

And Sam would be a hypocrite if he refused her. It’s not like he can’t be discreet about it.  

 

Mrs. Rogers seems relieved when Sam beats her the point, the bone chilling cold she brought with her steadily evaporating, and the color beginning returning to her cheeks.  Sam can’t help himself, he smirks. She knew he’d say yes, even without asking him. Steve is no different (and really, she didn’t have to ask anyway. Sam had given her her answer even before she opened her mouth, kinda like hd di with Steve). 

 

“And I guess this means if I keep on ignoring you, you’re gonna keep messing with my thermostat? ”    
  


Sam has his ways to keep them out, of course. But Mrs. Rogers has been one of the stronger entities he’d encountered, easily bypassing his protections

 

Wordlessly, she nods. 

  
“Okay,” Sam concedes, “Lets...go to the living room, I guess. We’ll talk there.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Please tell me what you thought about it, whether or not I continue depends on feedback!


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